THE Rose was saturate with dew, As fresh as Nature sends, And with as bright a sun-beam too, As Earth's brief summer lends; Yet still it long'd with an ardent flame For that blessed sphere whence its blushes came, Gazing up to that cloudless sky Where Beauty and Love, with their glorious eye Ripen, and ripen, -- but never die. Its damask lip to the turf was prest, And tears like rain-drops fell, When it sank from the stalk and the florist's breast That had shelter'd it long, and well, -- And its fragrance fled From the garden-bed, Where it lifted its queenly crown; -- Yet a spirit-sigh From the realms on high To the mourner's heart came down. 'Twas there! -- That peerless Rose was there, Where no frosts, nor mildews are. -- Tenderest friends! -- whose watchful care Mark'd its infant bud unclose, Ye fear'd the blight for it. The winds, with moody fit, -- The wintry snows; -- Now, Fear hath fled away, Hope hath no prayer to say, For it blooms where Heaven's pure ray Unchanging glows. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONNET COMPOSED ON A JOURNEY HOMEWARD by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE WORK WITHOUT HOPE by SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE THE SAND-MAN by PAUL LAURENCE DUNBAR CORINNA'S GOING A-MAYING by ROBERT HERRICK SPOON RIVER ANTHOLOGY: ELSA WERTMAN by EDGAR LEE MASTERS THE BALLAD OF READING GAOL by OSCAR WILDE FINDING CYNTHIA IN PAIN, AND CRYING; A SONNET by PHILIP AYRES |